Merrily Yours (The Bardot Siblings)

Chapter 1

“There’s something about a Christmas sweater that will always make me laugh.” — Kristen Wiig

“Your dick is in my ass.”

“Good God, Baby Bardot. You can’t say shit like that before I’ve had coffee.” Anders reaches around and rubs my protruding belly. “Also, my dick is not in your ass, but it can be. Just say the word,” he mumbles, snuggling even closer.

“Okay, so it’s not in my ass, but it is hard and you remember the second trimester horniness. I’ve been awake for an hour, waiting for you to put me out of my misery!”

His hand slides down my stomach and closer to exactly where I want him. He teases the hem of my panties causing my thighs to rub together searching for that delicious friction my body craves. “My poor wifey,” he whispers as his fingers come further down, tracing the inside of my thigh.

I arch back into him, rubbing said ass over his morning wood, silently begging for release. I’m almost twenty-two weeks pregnant and the hormones are raging. But I’ll take second trimester horniness over first trimester nausea any day.

“El still sleeping?” he asks, referring to our one year old. I nod in answer—she’s an incredibly sound sleeper.

I found out I was pregnant the first time the day Anders had his Broadway debut. It was one of the best days of our life, and I still can’t believe we have a daughter. She’s perfect—of course she is. Except for her lack of red hair, which I constantly give Anders shit about. We weren’t exactly trying for Elodie, but we weren’t exactly preventing either. An unexpected joy, just like a lot of our life together.

Then, four months ago, we found out about another unexpected surprise. We really should find a better birth control option…

Anders finally gives in, breaking me out of my thoughts by running a single finger from my opening up to my clit. “Fuck, yes. Please, more.” All it takes is that one touch and incoherent words are tumbling out.

“You’ve always been so pretty when you beg,” Anders’ lips whisper against the shell of my ear, and my whole body shudders. His tongue charts a path down my neck, biting where it meets my shoulder and pushing his finger into me at the same time.

I moan, grinding down onto his finger, gasping when he curls it. Unsurprisingly, Anders has spent the last four years meticulously studying my body. The thing that did surprise me, however, is that every time we are together like this it gets better and better. You hear about how your love grows the longer you are with someone—my parents are a sickening example of that—but no one talks about how the sex keeps getting better too.

Well, Mom probably has said that before, but I try to tune her out when she starts talking about the joys of sex.

Anders pulls me back to the moment with another nip to my ear. I push back into him and revel in the increasingly frantic pace his finger is setting. He pulls out and circles my clit once, twice, before reaching past me to grab our favorite toy out of the nightstand drawer—a bullet vibrator I named Buzz Lightyear. Anders had a good laugh at that.

He quickly strips his boxers off, and then does the same with my underwear. I start to turn to face him, but he stops me. “I want cuddle sex,” he says, positioning me back on my side so I can be the little spoon.

“You love cuddle sex.”

“I love any sex with you, baby, but yes, I do love cuddle sex. Your belly is so cute—I don’t want to disturb it.”

I laugh at that. “Disturb it?”

He turns the vibrator on and positions it over my clit, effectively silencing me. “Yes, disturb the baby. Or hurt them. Can I hurt them when I have sex with you? You are so strong, yet also seem so delicate when you’re pregnant.” He kisses my shoulder softly as if to punctuate that statement.

Shaking my head, I reply, “You won’t hurt the baby. Also, can I tell you what it is?—”

“Don’t you dare!” He pulls the vibrator off as punishment for even suggesting that I might spoil the gender surprise for him. “You know I want to find out as my Christmas present!” he grumbles.

I am a terrible secret keeper, and this has been the hardest secret to keep since finding out the sex of the baby at our anatomy scan a week ago. I had to find out with Elodie. As a first time mom there was enough change, I couldn’t also deal with the unknown of what was growing in my stomach.

This time, I wanted to find out, Anders wanted to keep it a surprise. We finally compromised, deciding that I could surprise him as his Christmas present, but I’m dying to spill!

Grabbing his hand and moving it back where I want it, I reluctantly agree to keep my lips zipped a little longer. “Okay, killer. I won’t spoil it for you. Promise.”

I’m rewarded with a searing kiss as Anders continues to work me closer and closer to the edge. I tilt my hips and reach behind me to position him at my entrance. It takes a little finagling, but this has been our favorite position ever since I started to really show a few weeks ago, and I know it will continue to be as the baby keeps growing.

After a moment, Anders slides in, filling me perfectly. He works in and out slowly, rhythmically, driving me to madness before slowing back down again.

“Anders!” I whine, after he does it again. “Please let me come.”

“You know I can’t resist when you ask so nicely,” he says before picking up the pace with his thrusts and the vibrator. It takes mere seconds for me to combust, and he quickly follows into orgasmic bliss. I feel exhilarated and exhausted all at once, and I could definitely fall back asleep now. “Go pee before you fall back asleep,” Anders warns, reading my mind as he tends to do.

“Marriage is so romantic,” I quip.

“No UTIs on my watch,” he mock salutes.

We take care of business and then cuddle back in bed. Today is a rare lazy day since we are heading back to my hometown, Sassafras, for the week. It will take a few hours to drive there, but we aren’t expected until dinner, so we can doze back off until Elodie wakes up.

Which is exactly what we do.

“How many sweaters is too many sweaters?” I ask, my suitcase already overflowing.

I’m a terrible packer—always have been. I tend to wait until the last minute and then pack entirely too many things that I don’t end up wearing.

Anders walks over and assesses the five sweaters I’ve laid out. He picks Elodie up from where she’s rolling around on the ground, blowing a raspberry on her belly. The sound of her giggle heals something inside of me every time I hear it. “What do you think, El?” he asks before saying, “You can probably do without the ‘Big Nick Energy’ sweatshirt.”

I clutch my metaphorical pearls in outrage, offended by this suggestion even though I asked for his opinion. “Excuse me! I absolutely cannot.” I pause and evaluate one last time. “I’m bringing all of them,” I decide, shoving them into my suitcase. “Can you zip this up? Baby girl is tired.” I emphasize that by pointedly rubbing my belly.

Anders sets Elodie down and starts zipping my suitcase, but then he registers what I said and freezes mid-zip, eyeing me suspiciously. “What did you just say?” he asks.

I feign ignorance because messing with him is always fun. “What do you mean?”

“You just said ‘baby girl.’ Do you mean baby girl as in you or baby girl as in the baby in your stomach is a girl?” He narrows his eyes at me, trying to decide what game I’m playing.

“Girl… boy… who could know. Could be both? Twins run in the family, you know.”

“I know for a fact there’s only one baby, Bex.” He walks over to me, running a finger over my jaw and then down my neck. “You’re fucking with me aren’t you?”

I shrug my shoulders in response, batting my eyelashes for emphasis. “Am I?”

“Brat,” he whispers, reaching behind me to land a warning smack on my ass.

I let him return to packing for a few minutes while I contemplate my next move. It’s also time for El to take her nap, so I grab her pudgy hands and guide her to her small bedroom. “C’mon, my cabbage,” I coo, using the nickname my mom has always called me. “Let’s let daddy finish packing, and we can lay down, yeah?” She doesn’t seem thrilled about leaving Anders, but she does go with me and finally falls asleep after a bottle.

When I come back, Anders has given up on packing. He pats the couch, indicating that I should sit with him. I cuddle into his side, sighing as I look at the half-packed mess we’ve created.

“So…Can I start calling you daddy in bed?” I trace my fingers up and down his leg, ducking my head so he can’t see the smile forming on my lips.

“Jesus woman,” he laughs. “You really are feeling like a brat today.”

I make a show of checking my wrist which absolutely does not contain a watch. “We have a few hours before El’s nap is over…”

“Insatiable,” he murmurs.

But thirty minutes later I feel quite sated, thank you very much.

Mom and Dad are there to greet us when we pull up to my childhood home. The outside hasn’t been decorated yet—a task Dad said he was saving until the whole family was together. We make it to Sassafras fairly frequently. It’s not too far of a drive from the city and, as much as I was dying to get out, I will admit I miss this crazy town.

We are making a home in New York City, but Sassafras will always feel like home. It’s where Anders and I met, avoided each other, and eventually fell in love. There’s a nostalgia there that will never truly go away.

Dad comes around Anders’ jeep to help me out of the front seat. “I’m not that pregnant, Dad! I can get out of the car.”

He just smiles down at me. Of my entire family, Dad is the most excited to welcome the new addition. He loved becoming a grandfather when Elodie was born—they are two peas in a pod. “We have to protect my grandbaby,” he says and then leans in conspiratorially. “And you can tell me what it is, you know I can keep a secret.”

“I heard that!” Anders yells, opening the backdoor to help El out of her carseat.

“We actually found out that it’s a baby?—”

“ Rebecca! ” Anders scolds. I love when he uses my full name.

“—dinosaur. Truly a miracle.” I wink at Dad and then whisper, “He’s really fun to mess with.”

“I can see that,” Dad chuckles. He turns from me then and scoops Elodie up. “How’s my favorite girl?” he asks.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I reply, even though I know he wasn’t talking to me. We’ve all been replaced by squishy cheeks and baby curls.

He gives Elodie another cuddle and then hands her to me. “Anders, how can I help? I’m assuming Bex packed your entire apartment?”

They assemble at the back of the car to bitch and moan about how much I pack. I walk toward Mom, who has stayed on the porch to observe from afar. “I made some cookies, mon chou,” she says as a greeting, plopping a kiss on both cheeks. “Figured you’d need a pick-me-up after your drive. And I’ll take this one!” She takes El out of my arms, and I have a feeling her feet won’t touch the ground the rest of the week.

“Hell yes, let’s go inside. They’ll get everything in,” I say, gesturing to Anders and Dad as they try to figure out how to get all the bags inside in one trip. I desperately want one of Mom’s chocolate crinkle cookies—my favorite holiday tradition. She only makes them at Christmas time, and my mouth usually starts watering around Thanksgiving.

Mom puts her arm around me and leads me into the warm kitchen, plating two cookies for me, and pouring a glass of milk. Elodie grabs her own cookie off the counter, already learning the joys of the crinkle cookie. “How are you feeling?” Mom asks as if I don’t update her daily on all things pregnancy.

“Horny,” I answer.

She throws her head back in laughter, brown and silver curls falling down her back. “Good for you,” she smiles. “Enjoy it. You know it will probably go away in the third trimester, but toward the end, those orgasms can be great for inducing labor.”

“I already regret telling you this.”

She waves me off. “Please, I know how that baby got in there. And how this one got here, too.” She pinches Elodie’s chubby cheeks. “You and Anders have looked at each other with sex eyes ever since you met.”

Dad walks in right at that moment, kissing my mom on the top of her head. “Some thoughts are inside thoughts, dear.”

“Elaine has never had an inside thought,” Anders adds. “Are we upstairs?” he asks, directing the question to Mom.

“Yes, my cabbage,” she winks. “You can drop any gifts in the living room, though.”

Anders nods and then makes his way upstairs. After a moment, I hear his boisterous laugh. I eye my mom who is covering her mouth and avoiding eye contact.

“Mother. What am I going to find when I go upstairs?” I ask.

“Whatever could you mean, Rebecca?”

I know I learned from the best, so I narrow my eyes and start toward the staircase. When I walk into my childhood bedroom, a large poster of my husband dressed as Hercules, abs glistening, is taped to the ceiling above the queen bed.

“Bexy, I know you always wanted a poster of me on your wall, but this feels a little extreme,” Anders taunts.

“Whatever, when you and the guys go look for a tree I’m going to enjoy getting myself off to your shiny abs.” I smirk.

Anders groans at that, grabbing my hips and pulling me into him. “Are you going to let me fuck you in your childhood bedroom this year?” he asks.

“This bed is squeaky as fuck,” I reply. He shakes his head and then plants a quick kiss on my lips. “Pick up some WD-40 when you’re in town and then we can talk,” I wink.

“Can we get one of those big blowup things for the yard this year?” Gabe, the oldest of the Bardot siblings, and Anders’ best friend, asks, mouth full of mushroom and leek pasta.

“Swallow, Gabriel,” Anders says.

“Okay, Dad,” Gabe quips at the same time Ben—my middle brother and twin to my third brother, Jules—mumbles, “How many times do you think Gabe’s had someone tell him that?”

“Gross, Ben! I’m eating,” I reply.

Dad chimes in, cutting off any other brotherly antics. “Sure, Gabe. We can get ‘one of those big blowup things.’” He air quotes. “I thought we could get out the outside decorations tomorrow, test out the lights, and then grab anything else we need when we go get the tree.”

My brothers and Anders nod eagerly, all looking like little kids again. It’s cute how much they enjoy this tradition that has come to be, now that we are all out of the house. Jules and Gabe are still in Sassafras, but with Ben and I living in different places we had to make adjustments to what the holidays looked like. I guess that’s a part of growing up.

“Do you have any other ideas for decorations this year?” Dad asks.

The table is relatively quiet as they ponder the question. Mom leans back in her chair and makes eye contact with me. Thankfully, we have nothing to do with this particular tradition. We’ll make hot chocolate—hers will be spiked—and watch the chaos unfold. But the Bardot boys take their job very seriously.

“I’m just going to say it,” Ben starts. “I think we should do colorful lights this year.” Jules and Anders groan.

“The white lights give such a classic look,” Jules counters. He may look practically identical to Ben, but they couldn’t be more different.

“What if…” I start, dragging my pause out for emphasis. “Well, the house is nice and symmetrical. We could divide it down the middle—team white lights could decorate one side and team colorful lights can do the other. Mom, Elodie, and I will be the judges.”

Gabe leans forward. “What does the winner get?”

“That’s the best part.” I shrug nonchalantly and rub my belly. “The winner gets to be Santa this year.”

A collective gasp echoes through the dining room. Ever since we were old enough, one of us has gotten the coveted responsibility each year of being Santa for the whole family. It means we are in control of who gets to open what presents and in what order on Christmas morning.

Everyone is extra nice to that year’s Bardot Santa in hopes that they’ll get to open their gifts first. It’s so silly, but I know they all want it.

“But if we’re in teams, there will be two winners,” Anders breaks the silence.

“Obviously, rock paper scissors will determine who Santa is,” I say.

Anders gasps, Gabe’s eyebrows scrunch in, and Ben drums his fingers together.

“Best two out of three?” Jules asks, and I know I’ve got them.

“Best two out of three,” I confirm.

“Deal,” they reply in unison.

“You’re diabolical with that Santa plan, Baby Bardot,” Anders says as we snuggle into bed later that night. “You have to help me win.”

“I will not!” I reply. “It’s every Santa candidate for himself out there.”

“I don’t get an advantage for sleeping with one of the judges?” he asks. “What kind of democracy is this?”

“There are no rules at the North Pole, I’m afraid.”

“Seems like the elves would riot.”

I roll over to face him. “Oh, they do. Don’t you remember the year they fought for elves rights and no one got presents?”

“I feel like that was just Elaine and Hugo’s way of punishing you four for causing chaos.”

“Could be. Dad did end up giving in and giving us our presents, so maybe this is all just lore. Who could know?”

“Who could know?” he echoes, chuckling and pulling me to lay on his chest.

We lay in silence for a few minutes before Anders says, “I’m glad to be home.”

“Me too, killer. I miss it here.”

“We’ll move back one day,” he promises. “Elodie loves it too.”

I sigh. “I’d like that. I’m happy in the city, I really am…” I can feel him nod against the top of my head. “And I’m happy to support your dreams. We could stay in the city if you wanted to keep acting for the next thirty years.”

“We’ll just keep our options open, yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I agree.

I keep my head on his chest and listen as his breaths even out. I’m getting close to falling asleep when he says, “The poster is a little creepy, isn’t it?”

“But in, like, a hot way,” I reply. “We should take it home with us.”

“How did she even get it?” Anders asks.

“I don’t question Elaine’s ability to get shit done. Weirder things have occurred in this house.”

“True,” he muses.

“Go to sleep, killer.”

“I love you, Baby Bardot.”

“I love you too… daddy,” I tease.

“Weirdly, I didn’t hate that.”

He twirls a curl around his finger until we both drift off, happy to be home for the holidays.